


The plan of our lifetime

by Cilare



Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Study, Gen, Written before the Re:Mind DLC, headcanons abound
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-18
Updated: 2020-01-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:01:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22307584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cilare/pseuds/Cilare
Summary: In another universe, some time before the war, Young meets Younger.Or, the Chess Scala duo are in the KH3 era, on the side of the Light, but Scala Xehanort agrees to meet with the youngest of his future selves. Headcanons abound. (Short what-if meeting and character study)
Relationships: Eraqus & Xehanort (Kingdom Hearts)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 18





	The plan of our lifetime

There is no wind on the Keyblade Graveyard, no breeze that can play with the young man’s coat and carry the warnings of all those Wielders who lost their life in the first Keyblade War. He hears them all the same, just as he wonders who arranged the blades so that four paths remain, all of them leading to the crossroad where he waits. 

There is no wind, so the coat doesn’t flutter as it should when he lowers his hood to greet the new arrival. It’s a shame, he thinks, it would have been appropriate. 

An outsider might have thought them brothers. They share the same silver-white hair, the same athletic build and flair for the dramatic, but their eyes -and what lies behind them- are certainly different. The youngest of them both, not an adult by any world’s standards, had been warned about them. He’d expected -mostly hoped for- sunset gold, but what he finds is the cold glint of a brass dagger. 

“You have come alone.” The older speaks, and his voice is flat and emotionless but still his voice, their voice, and somehow that’s even scarier than the eyes. “Color me impressed, Xehanort.” 

“You asked me to.” The younger replies, clenching his fists at his side. “And I need to know.”

The oldest regards the boy he once was for a painfully long moment, his gaze almost detached as he judges him.

“I suppose you do.” He says at last, before turning around. “Walk with me?”

He almost expects an attack to his back and he’d be proud if that were to happen, but he knows that won’t be the case. It will take a few incidents with nobles in Scala for the younger to start disregarding honor in battle, as well as a few hard choices for him to commit to the ends before the means. But it will happen, that’s assured, and he pities him. 

The younger knows that it might be a trap. It doesn’t take him much effort to see the way the Darkness clings to the other’s figure and surrounds him like ashen, broken wings, like a warning from fate itself. He still follows him, because Xehanort will always seek answers no matter the risk. 

“What have they told you, little one?” The older asks, and the form of address earns him anger. He doesn’t smile but it’s close, especially when he turns and the younger flinches. He shouldn’t be enjoying his reactions so much, but how could he not when he wears his heart on his sleeve? Their heart, their sleeve, it’s certainly amusing. And it’s not, because the older can see what the younger cannot. 

The younger is not only a head shorter than the other, but he’s metaphysically tiny as well. He is, objectively, at his weakest. A brilliant mind and a skilled mage with close to no power to back his spells, a physical fighter when he will be at his best when he learns the joy of wielding nature itself from a fair distance. So why does it hurt to look at those silver eyes? 

It doesn’t hurt, the older tells himself, as he hides behind a facade that it’s almost a like a second skin now. He’s a good liar but it doesn’t cut it, and the younger’s response saves him from following that trail of thought. 

“You are trying to summon Kingdom Hearts.” 

There’s accusation in the younger’s voice, but the oldest can also hear a note of wonder. It’s well disguised and probably involuntary, but it’s there. 

“We are.” He replies. “And it tempts you as much as it tempts me.”

“To destroy the universe. To end all the worlds, to sink them all into the Darkness.”

And there’s the accusation. 

“Not exactly.” The older replies. “We are trying to begin anew. To prevent the world from destroying itself. It will all start again and we shall rule and prevent such an end from ever approaching.”

There is a moment of silence, and it even seems like the youngest is considering his words. Then he looks at this future version of his dead in the eye. 

“You will destroy all the worlds. End it all. Don’t you think that's a bit too much?” 

Perhaps for the youngest, who still hasn’t had a taste of power and whose voice is almost pleading. 

“We will be a god.” The older replies. “At this point in time, we cannot be stopped.” 

“You will kill everyone.” The youngest insists, then his voice drops to uncertainty. “Even Eraqus?”

The oldest doesn’t reply and he doesn’t freeze, either, but it’s a close call. It’s been months since the last time he walked the halls of Scala ad Caelum, his one true friend by his side. Xehanort had requested the Masters to allow them to embark on the Pilgrimage together. His request had been denied and perhaps it had been for the better. It had been weeks, after all, since he last saw him. 

He remembers the day clearly and he remembers walking the gardens of Land of Departure, invisible to all. He remembers his old friend, far more old than he’d been friend, fighting his own student. And Xehanort remembers as well his own future self dashing to end Eraqus’ life. The young Master had been naive. That had been his first encounter with his future plans.

Xehanort regards this younger self of his almost dettachedly. He doesn’t deserve to know that, he doesn’t need to live with that soul-crushing guilt. He can save him the nightmares.

The youngest disagrees. 

“Even Eraqus?” He repeats, now much more aggressive. 

“Do not mention him.” The older says, voice flat. 

And then he has the younger in front of him, arms crossed and pain his eyes. As if he knew what pain is. 

“What happened to Eraqus?”

The older’s voice gets cold. 

“Stand aside.” 

The change is immediate. The youngest is by all means smart, even brilliant, and he reads what his future self won’t say.

“What did you do to him?” He growls. 

He wears his heart on his sleeve, he doesn’t expect a sudden attack. And the oldest of them both is fast. 

The youngest feels the ice on his chest even before he sees the other move and clench his hand on his coat. He lifts him as if he weighed nothing and the ice keeps extending. The youngest cannot breathe, and the panic in his silver eyes feels almost beautiful for the older. How dare he think he can demand anything, he wonders, how dare he hope? How dare he still have Eraqus, how dare he feel freely without the fangs of Darkness gnawing at everything that makes him human?

“Listen to me, little one.” The older hisses. “And learn. You will not speak of him in my presence. And if you want to live, you will either join me or walk away from this war.”

The youngest meets his gaze, as furious as he's terrified. He's out of his depth, barely able to breathe and unable to move, and the cold must be frankly annoying. But he’s holding on quite well, and the oldest is far too aware that many of his achievements have been brought by being told that he cannot do something. That he isn’t strong enough or powerful enough, or too dark of heart. Those assessments weren’t wrong, not that it mattered. What he didn’t have in strength he solved by training, what he didn’t have in power he solved by skill. What he didn’t have in Light, however, only led him towards seeking power. He was a brilliant student, fueled by spite and pride, destined to greatness. Or so he’d been told once in the lonely shores of his homeworld. The youngest is starting to understand the kind of greatness they are talking about. 

“The Masters in Scala…” The youngest begins, but the older cuts him off.

“Nothing remains of Scala ad Caelum, little one. I have walked among its empty halls.” 

Heart of all worlds, he’d loved Scala. To see it reduced to a land of ghosts had been excruciating, but the older knows that the younger will see nothing of that pain in his golden gaze. He's too blinded by rage. 

“We will stop you!” He growls. 

The older lets him fall to the ground, and the spell begins to vanish. 

“Will you really move against the plan of our lifetime, foolish one?” He asks, as the younger manages to stand. “Do you really know nothing about time travel? Time itself is immutable, and you are weak.”

Just a little spark of Light, barely an ember without any real strength, surrounded by too much dormant Darkness. He’s not powerful. 

He is, however, determined. And intelligent, a schemer at heart. There is much he doesn’t know, but much he hasn’t yet forgotten as well. He’s not yet the cynic his future self has become. 

“I will change fate if I have to.” He says. He sounds convinced. “This is not what we were promised.”

No, it isn’t. It’s just who they are. Still, the older laughs, cold and dismissive, and turns around. 

“Careful with the armor, little one, it will attack on sight.” He warns, then he vanishes in a flash of Darkness. 

He will need to keep an eye on this confused, foolish little self of his before their older selves catch wind of his presence and plans. It won’t do any good for him to fall to Darkness before his time, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> First of all, thank you so much for having read until the end. I really hope you've enjoyed this :3
> 
> I've had this one-shot on my docs for a long time and with Re:Mind approaching I decided to post it, because chances are it will be even less canon-compliant afterwards. Much in this work is headcanon, you probably have noticed, but oh well isn't this what fanfic is for? :")


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